


The Suicide fund

by AuroraDefae



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:44:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraDefae/pseuds/AuroraDefae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Challenge: Sherlock return with punch/breaking down.<br/>-==============-<br/>John breaks down at Sherlock's grave, only to find out Sherlock is behind him. </p><p>(briefly highlights the three years)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Suicide fund

Clang.

 

John winced slightly as the spare change he had had in his pocket dropped into the jar he kept by the door. In letters he barely glanced at anymore, the jar's label read: "Suicide prevention fund."

 

It had been Mrs. Hudson's idea; Doctors need action and someone to save, so why not empower John to help save others from suicide?

 

It had more or less worked. He gave community service, tried to not cry during talks that made school auditoriums become silent, and barely had time to grieve except for the allotted time to visit the grave. Then, he could cry. Then, he didn't need to pretend everything was not alright. Then, he faced the truth.

 

That ghosts didn't come back after three years. They only came back in your heart. Then they only haunted you as a memory, mocking you as you forgot, even though you held tighter and tighter.

 

Today, sunshine reflected off of the tombstone, making it almost to bright to look at. “Sherlock Holmes” burned so bright that it was etched into John’s sight when he closed his eyes. He felt a choke constricting his throat, and tried to fend it off.

 

_No._

 

_Not today._

 

_I will not break down today. I will no-_

 

He felt himself shaking as a few tears fell down. Now that he was crying, he tried to let himself break down. But all he could feel was emptiness, a deep pit inside of him that had been hollowed out that day, three years and a week ago.

 

So he took a shaky breath, clenching his fist, throwing his shoulders back. He could be strong, no matter how much it hurt. His resolve did not shake as he turned around to a ghost. A ghost with a long coat and curls that danced in the breeze.

 

“John.”

 

They slowly walked towards each other, as if certain the next step would destroy the moment and the ghost would blow away like smoke. It was only when they stood a foot apart that John felt something. A stirring deep in himself. As he stared up into the eyes of his friend, he realized it was joy and hope, and relief and..........

 

Three years Three years and a week, to the day. Three years ago, he had lost everything. And now the lost was prancing back into his life. As if that could fix everything. The pain. The hopeless. The emptiness.

 

Without knowing it, anger coursed through John, his muscles tightening as he pulled his arm back on instinct to punch the ghost who was real hard on his nose, dead-center.

 

Sherlock didn’t protest, he just stepped back and held his nose to stop the bleeding.

 

_Oh god._

 

“Sherlock, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry...” John could now feel himself truly breaking down. His sobs made his throat hoarse, and he trailed off as he crumbled.

 

Still holding his nose, Sherlock walked the three feet to John.

 

Two feet.

 

One foot.

 

Inches.

 

Sherlock held his friend as he sobbed and fragmented. He tried to not cry, to be the strong one, biting his lip. Yet he felt a tear roll down his cheek, where it fell onto John’s sweater.

  
“I’m so sorry, my friend. I’m back now.”


End file.
